


shuck

by howlish



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Broken Bones, Experimental, Gore fic, M/M, Male Byleth - Freeform, seriously big time gore, suffocation kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlish/pseuds/howlish
Summary: Regarding the nature of immortality. Claudeleth (MLM), canon-adjacent, one-shot, rated for explicit gore.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	shuck

**Author's Note:**

> consider this an experiment! i've always loved gore a lot, had a lot of ideas surrounding gore, so today i played in the gore space with byleth. this was going to be part of a much larger au but then i realized these two scenes were all i was really excited to write!
> 
> and in case i haven't said it enough: this drabble/fic is focused on gore. i put a lot into the feelings behind it as well but! please mind your health before reading!

The beast’s sharp mouth clamped down around his body, the tongue was warm and heavy and it wet his clothes uncomfortably, while a single large tooth fit perfectly against his neck.

And it bit down.

There was a sickening crunch in Byleth’s leg, a feeling of immense pressure in his chest, and his neck exploded in raw, sharp _pain_. The beast tore away from him, and cold air touched pieces of himself that were never meant to feel the wind, deep muscle, bone, and finally his vision went dark as his body collapsed to the ground.

He collapsed, because that was what the dead were supposed to do. He had seen it a hundred times, more than anyone knew, his friends fall in that familiar dead heap before he rewound time. He had seen it in his enemies, watched the light and the fear leave their eyes together. He had seen it in his father. There was a way that corpses were supposed to act.

But the pain did not leave him. It seared through his neck, his chest, his leg, his exposed throat… He was not drawing breath, but the pain did not leave.

He was not drawing breath, his heart had never beat, and he was still alive.

The shadow of the beast that had killed him moved away, seeking more prey, and as the sunlight hit Byleth’s eyelids he knew he could still see. So he opened them. So he pushed himself up with the arm that was not limp from being caught in a row of teeth. He tried to breathe, but the sudden rush of renewed pain paralyzed him, and his open neck poured blood in a grisly curtain.

Somewhere far, far away, he heard someone screaming. Were they being torn apart as well, or had they simply caught sight of Byleth?

With his good arm, he leaned over to pick up his bone-white sword, which shone its familiar red the instant his hand closed around the hilt. He was still alive. The sword still recognized him. He stabbed it into the soft loam that should have been his grave, used it as leverage to push himself up to a knee, and to stand.

His leg that was bitten through was showing shattered bone that had jutted from his ankle. Looking at it was unpleasant, connected in his mind the pain and the cause, but it didn’t matter; his weight shifted to test the torn tendons and black spots flooded his vision as the hurt became impossible to ignore. His stomach rolled, he tried to take a deep breath to calm it, and his hand flew up to his throat as that too screamed in raw nerves.

He was a mess. He was alive.

The screams around him were louder now, his senses starting to clear. Above the din, he heard a familiar voice, a voice of comfort, of wisdom. _Claude. Please, Claude._

But when Byleth’s eyes found his target, that same beast that had felled him was bearing down on Claude, who fired arrow after arrow above his head, his stark white wyvern laid on the ground behind him, injured but breathing. The beast was gaining ground.

Byleth tested his broken ankle again, focused on Claude, Claude was in danger, the pain tried to sear that thought from his head but he had to _focus_. _Claude was in danger._ Another step, as he dragged his sword along the ground behind him, creating a shallow groove in the dirt that followed his progress. Slow at first, every step seemed to last an hour, but as the individual sharp agony bled into one massive hurt he was able to go faster, until he was running, sprinting towards the beast, towards Claude, _Claude, please._

His sword drug a line through the dirt beside him as the scene came closer, he could hear Claude clearer now, saw Claude’s quick look to his peripheral turn to horror as he spotted Byleth’s ruined form approaching. Byleth wanted to reassure him— _I am alive._ But he could not speak. He could only raise his sword, and drive it upwards through the roof of the beast’s mouth, finally finishing it off.

The second time his legs gave out under him, Byleth did not hit the ground. Warm arms caught him gingerly, a soft gloved hand cradled his head, and he watched his own blood stain Claude’s breast before unconsciousness took him.

——

He awoke, and that was the first surprise.

The second was how numb he felt, like he was floating and weighed down at once, the soft light of the room allowing him to accept consciousness at his own pace.

When his eyes opened, he was not alone. Claude looked to be on another plane of existence in his mind, but Byleth purposefully stirred a bit to alert him. The way Claude gave a start at the motion, as much shock as relief in his eyes, said more than words could.

“Hey, don’t— don’t sit up.” Byleth had been about to do just that, but with a furrow of his brows, he obliged. If anybody had the slightest answers, it would be Claude. Even if the answer was _don’t sit up._

He raised a hand instead — towards his throat, he had to know how much was gone — but that, too, Claude intercepted, grabbing Byleth’s hand in his own, pulling it close to kiss his knuckles gently.

“You shouldn’t mess with your injuries. Medicine or magic, we’re playing with forces we don’t understand. ...I’m just glad you started breathing again.” And suddenly, Byleth was aware he _had_ been breathing since he awoke. It had been impossible when his neck was torn open. While Claude held one hand, a comfort he desperately wanted to keep, Byleth couldn’t resist raising the other to feel the bandages at his neck. He barely touched them, against Claude’s quiet protests, but more important than the stinging pain wherever he grazed was the shape of a neck beneath his fingers. A whole one, near as he could tell. “Can’t stop you, huh?” The laugh in Claude’s tone was forced. “I guess… can you speak?”

Byleth tried, and the barest croak came out. It hurt, but no more than speaking through a sore throat, so he tried again. And on his third try, “Claude…”

Another shaky laugh, Claude’s head fell in clear exhaustion. “Hey, Teach. How you feeling?”

How was he feeling?

Feeling…

It had taken Claude’s influence to be able to ask the question with any depth to begin with, and if it were any other battle, Byleth might not have a new answer. Simply…

Byleth stared at the ceiling. Focused on the feeling of his hand being held. On warmth.

“Claude. I’m not human, am I?”

The silence lasted longer than Claude usually allowed.

“...No, I don’t think so.”

“I scared you.”

It wasn’t a question, and Claude didn’t waste their time denying it, meeting it with silence.

“I’m scared, too.”

His hand was squeezed tightly— Claude was still there. Claude wasn’t going to run from him. “We’ll figure it out. Just focus on healing up, okay?”

But he couldn’t, Byleth’s heavy mind tried to grasp onto several concepts at once, they slipped away from him, came back in waves, but through it all one held purchase. He tried to sit up, and with a hushed “ _Byleth,_ ” of exasperation, Claude helped him move to mitigate the damage.

Sitting, he was better able to comprehend the state of his body. It hurt, all his wounds were still making themselves known, and he suspected he would not walk on that ankle for some time yet. But he was alive. He was breathing. His heart still did not beat. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His view could not be pulled from the pattern on his blanket. He could not bear to see that fear in Claude’s eyes again.

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re alive. Seriously, don’t worry about looking scary on the battlefield, you carry a whip made of bones that’s supposed to rend mountains in two. If I’d.. if we’d lost you…”

He wished he could share Claude’s relief. He did not want to die, did not want to _be dead_ , but he wanted to be immortal far, _far_ less. Where was the limit? If he could live without breathing, without a heartbeat, if he could live through being bitten in half, what more was there? Would age touch him? Could he lose a limb and regrow it the same as his throat? Would he ever die? _What was he?_

He didn’t know he was crying until the blue swirl patterns on his blanket started to darken in small spots. Claude didn’t have to say a word, the way he hovered closer voiced his concern for him. What was wrong?

“Claude…” A shiver of a silent sob went through Byleth, but if the words for this existed, they too had been kept from him. “I’m.. I’m sorry I bled on your clothes.”


End file.
